"What are you two plotting together, aunt Medora?" Madame Olenska cried
as she came into the room.
She was dressed as if for a ball. Everything about her shimmered and
glimmered softly, as if her dress had been woven out of candle-beams;
and she carried her head high, like a pretty woman challenging a
roomful of rivals.
"We were saying, my dear, that here was something beautiful to surprise
you with," Mrs. Manson rejoined, rising to her feet and pointing archly
to the flowers.
Madame Olenska stopped short and looked at the bouquet. Her colour did
not change, but a sort of white radiance of anger ran over her like
summer lightning. "Ah," she exclaimed, in a shrill voice that the young
man had never heard, "who is ridiculous enough to send me a bouquet?
Why a bouquet? And why tonight of all nights? I am not going to a ball;
I am not a girl engaged to be married. But some people are always
ridiculous."